Page 9 of Of Grief And Gratitude

Who’s the Danger Daddy?

Cosimo squinted and scoffed at the comments. “Fuck that. And fuck you, stronzo. Put your dick away or I’ll chop it off.”

He flipped a blade open and I batted at it with my hand. “That’s not even good for chopping.”

Cosimo slapped my hand away—the one covered in lube, incidentally—and something akin to horror flashed through his eyes. “What the? I swear to fuck, if I just touched your shit I’ll gut you.”

“Lube.” I couldn’t stop the laugh from escaping or stop myself from metaphorically poking the mafia enforcer in front of me. “I’ll pay you a hundred bucks if you want to give them a show. They have a thing for cumshots—don’t you, ladies?”

We still want yours, Daddy!

Is he tattooed everywhere? Show us!

“Yeah, hard pass.” Cosimo swiped my shirt from the bed and wiped his hands on the expensive fabric before putting his knife away. “You’re done here. Got a meeting.”

I sighed and faced my audience with an apologetic shrug. “Sorry, ladies. You heard the party pooper. Looks like today was an edging session for both of us. Check back tomorrow and I’ll have a little something special for you to make up for it.”

With a tap of the screen, I ended the live video and flipped the switch on the power strip laying on the floor to shut off the lighting. I blinked several times to acclimate to the dimmer room, only to find Cosimo standing there with his arms crossed over his chest disapprovingly.

“What are you, a prepubescent boy?” He tilted his head down without lowering his eyes. “Taking manscaping to a new level.”

I shrugged and walked past him toward my bedroom. “Looks better on camera.”

He followed but hovered in the doorway while I found a clean black suit in my walk-in closet and got dressed out of view. “Hurry up. We need to be at Angelo’s in half an hour.”

The restaurant was owned by a Neretti cousin, and there was a private room where my family conducted business when necessary. The employees knew to keep their eyes down and their mouths shut.

“Do you know what it’s about?” I asked as I tied my black tie and slipped my feet into black Italian leather loafers. Meetings were formal for my father, and there was an unspoken dress code to adhere to. Cosimo was playing with his knife when I emerged from the closet.

“Didn’t say,” he offered as he cleaned under his nails. “Ready?”

“Yeah.” I grabbed my wallet and phone and shoved them into my pocket as I headed toward the door.

With a shake of his head, Cosimo shot a final glance toward my little studio room, his lips pursed into a thin line. I held the door and motioned him to go first, locking up behind us.

“So, a bowtie, huh?” I thought I caught a shadow of a smile before Cosimo hit the button on the elevator and stepped in, but it was hard to tell with him.

“Yeah.” Talking about anything to do with my dick with my brother was fucking weird. Then again, Cosimo made regular conversation feel awkward any time he opened his mouth.

He looked skeptical. “Girls are into that kind of thing?”

“More into it than they are your fucking knives.”

Cosimo’s smile was almost feral as he ran his thumb over his blade before snapping it shut and returning it to its holder. He exited the elevator and looked both ways before making a beeline for his black SUV. The words he tossed over his shoulder sent a shiver down my spine. “I doubt that.”

My brother had a reputation for his obsession with all things sharp and stabby. A fixation that only benefited him as the Neretti enforcer. Sure, we were all dangerous. I didn’t blink twice when I had to kill a man for the family. But Cosimo. He was different. He loved his job. More than any sane person should. Nobody had ever accused him of being sane, though.

We made our way through the city to the restaurant in relative silence. Cosimo had the psychotic ability to drive without the radio on. His penchant for silence should have tipped everybody off to his unhinged nature from a young age. What child sat silently staring out the window for hours on end?

When we pulled up to Angelo’s, I stepped out of the car and straightened my suit, following Cosimo inside to the private room. Half of the long table was filled with my father and brothers, and at the other end sat the O’Connors. My brow furrowed in confusion. It had been a while since we’d met with the Irish face-to-face.

My sister Bianca was married to Colin, the oldest son, but they didn’t have anything to do with the family business. They lived in Florida and Colin ran a kink club while Bianca doted on their baby girl. It was weird seeing the former mobster as a parent. And one who actually loved his child, unlike my father.

“Good of you to finally show up,” my father said, his voice laden with sarcasm. It was futile to say anything in response. “Take a seat.”

I sat next to Dante and looked around the table. A redhead sat between Seamus and his heir Shane. She was dressed like a librarian or some shit in a black skirt suit, with her hair pulled back tightly in a bun. I knew Sloane, the O’Connor daughter, but I didn’t recognize the woman at the table, and I couldn’t tell her age with that severe style. Her makeup was understated and didn’t look like it hid any wrinkles, so she either got Botox or she couldn’t be much over thirty.

“Let’s get on with it,” Seamus spoke up. “We’ve got other business today. I’ve got to fix the strained relationship with a buyer after Casanova here slung his shillelagh all over the interwebs. They’d prefer our associates kept a lower profile.”

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